


What're Friends For

by likesflowers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, High School, Homework, MJ Knows Everything and Says Nothing, Mentors, Sokovia Accords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likesflowers/pseuds/likesflowers
Summary: Although Peter Parker was interning for Tony Stark, he's starting to realize that Mr. Stark isn't his only mentor. He felt like Steve Rogers might as well be haunting him, unlike Stark, who’d all but disappeared on him.In which Peter tries to sort out his own thoughts about accountability, friendship, leadership, and a few other ‘ships for good measure, while his many mentors hang around and offer advice with various levels of usefulness.





	What're Friends For

When he got back from Germany, Happy had stopped the car in front of his apartment building and kicked him out of the car. Peter didn’t think Happy liked him all that much. Mr. Stark had been a little reluctant to talk to him about their next "training retreat" but Peter felt pretty positive about the whole thing.

 

At least, he felt positive until he was breathing hard at the fifth flight landing with and a surprisingly heavy case in his arms. Peter was still aching in a thousand places, and exhausted from jet lag that hadn't quite worn off before they headed back again, and in emotional shock from getting into a fight both with and against his literal childhood heroes. The last two flights of stairs were torture.

 

He thought that he might make it to his room without Aunt May seeing him, but no such luck. She was hunched over her laptop with her glasses on, bank statement in one hand and a calculator in the other as she balanced her accounts. The distracted frown quickly turned to concern as she she took one look at his face.

 

"How was the trai---Peter? What happened to you?"

 

He tried to shrug it off like the guys in the comics did. "Nothing. Just some guys. I'm fine."

 

He should have known that was a guaranteed way to make her panic. Watching the worry lines deepen on her forehead hurt far worse than the eventual scolding itself would be.

 

He quickly backpedaled, recasting the cover story so it wasn't a mugging so much as a shakedown for lunch money. He thought about Flash as he talked, hoping that his face would make a fighting-bullies look and not a fighting-supersoldier-war-criminals one. It didn't unseat the tension in her shoulders, but the lines in her forehead eased a bit, and she finally just pulled him into an awkward hug before shooing him to his room while she fixed up an ice pack and some tomato soup.

 

He opened the door to his room--the same old room, unchanged from days ago, as if nothing had changed, when it felt like everything had. His eyes drifted around, catching the old comics lying dusty on the shelf. Two days ago he'd fought Captain America. THE Captain America. He'd been working for Iron Man, his childhood hero, and they'd been fighting against Captain America, who was probably BOTH their childhood heroes. Not that he could ever imagine Mr. Stark being a kid. But still.

 

Thinking about Flash must have put him in an odd mood, though, because when he remembered Captain America standing there on the tarmac, he didn't see the shield or the frankly terrifying flex of his biceps. He kept seeing that odd smile on his face right after Peter said he was from Queens, the pride in the man's voice when he'd announced that he was from Brooklyn. As if everyone didn't know that already. It had been on the history test last week.

 

Mr. Stark's tech was pretty cool, and Peter was fidgeting with it at the first chance he got, only half listening to Aunt May asking more details from the other room.

 

"What's some guy's name?"

 

"Uh...Steve." It slipped out accidentally, but he'd never really liked lying to her, and it WAS Steve who he'd had a fight with. Just not the 'some guy Steve' she was imagining. The rest of the story came easier, naturally, because it was completely true. "No, no, no. You don't know him. He's from Brooklyn."

 

“I hope you got a few good licks in, at least."

 

Peter thought of a metal fist caught in his own, of the painful flex of his arms as he pulled a National Treasure across a German tarmac by webbing tangling his ankles. "Yeah, I got a few in, actually."

 

\--------------------

 

His history class was doing presentations on the Howling Commandos, and Flash had chosen Jim Morita to suck up to the principal. Ned was all about Peggy Carter and how beautiful and brilliant and fierce she had been.  Michelle scowled as she put her name down next to Bucky Barnes as if daring anyone to challenge her choice. Peter’s got the pen poised next to Gabe Jones, but the image of Captain America’s half smile flashes into his mind. “Brooklyn,” he’d said with a slight nod, as if they were just neighborhood rivals with some sort of shared history, almost like being from the boroughs somehow put them on the same footing.  Him and Captain America. Which was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Being from the same city couldn’t do that. Even one as special New York City.

 

“Hey Michelle?” Peter asked, pen still in the air. 

 

“What?” she asked with her trademark annoyed voice. For once the book in her hands wasn’t even open, although she did have a finger in it marking her place. 

 

“You think there’s anything in the library about Captain America before he was famous? I mean, we’ve covered all that stuff about the battles a thousand times but I don’t really remember learning about before he joined the army. His life in Brooklyn and all that. Think I could do my project about that? Will I be able to find enough stuff in the library?” 

 

The lone eyebrow of suspicion rose. “Are you saying that because you saw me choose James Barnes and you want to copy my research because you know they were friends as kids?”

 

Peter had actually forgotten about that. Strange to think of the Captain going to school, having friends, like him and Ned. “Uh, no. I just wanted to know if the library had books about it. Because you’ve memorized the card catalog, and we aren’t allowed to use Wikipedia.”

 

That did not actually make Michelle less suspicious. “You know, there ARE resources that are not ‘library books’ or ‘Wikipedia’, right?” 

 

Peter had been tweaking the Webbing formula in his head when Mr. Garcia had been going over  what sources they could use for this project, so he didn’t really remember anything except NOT WIKIPEDIA written in two-foot-tall letters on the board. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t really know where to start with all that stuff. I’m not exactly an investigative journalist or anything. Why’d you pick Barnes, anyway? His story is DARK. What with the being a secret assassin and blowing up the King of Wakanda and having an unbreakable metal arm and all.”

 

Michelle seemed to take that comment personally, somehow, which was actually a good thing because it stopped her from asking how he knew about the metal arm being unbreakable. He didn’t think ‘because I blocked his metal death punch with my fist’ would be particularly helpful to maintaining his cover as NOT!Spiderman.

 

Peter forced his mind to drop remembering Germany and focus on what she was saying. “...and anyway,  Barnes grew up in  _ Brooklyn _ , you dumbass. That’s like half an hour away on the bus. Do you have any idea what kinds of documents I might be able to dig up at the local library archive? I’m not talking about birth certificates. I’m talking apartment leases. Report cards. Library fines. Maybe even run into an old lady who dated him back in the day and score an interview.”

 

That...actually sounded like an awesome project. Not the kind of project Peter really had time for, what with the ‘Stark internship’ and everything else. But he could probably go with her one afternoon and get enough research to put together a halfway decent project, enough that everyone would get off his back about his history grade so he could spend the time focusing on stuff that he actually needed to do. Like fight crime.

 

“No, I know that. That sounds awesome.” He paused. Michelle was prickly. He needed to phrase this right. “Look, when you head up there, can I go with you? I’ll do my own research and all that, but if those two grew up together all their records are going to be in the same places. And I wouldn’t mind having company if I’m going to be hanging out in some creepy dusty old archives. Not that you’re creepy or anything. But it’s just all the dust and old people smells make me think of a horror movie.” 

 

For a moment, Michelle just looked at him. Finally, she pursed her lips slightly and tilted her head. “Fine, you can tag along. But you’ve got to buy me a Venti Frap that day. Finder’s fee.”

 

“Deal.”

 

\-------------

 

He didn’t get a chance to go that weekend, and then it was the AcDec trip to DC, and then after all that, the last thing he should be worrying about was a history report.  Or his classes at all.

 

Principal Morita disagreed.

 

The last time Peter was in Principal Morita’s office, it had been last year, after the...after. He had been so shocked he hadn’t really registered what they’d talked about, but he remembered feeling--not better, nothing would make it better, but more centered. Principal Morita was a good guy, and WAY better at this giving advice thing than Mr. Stark was.So when Peter sat down this time, he was prepared for a more stoic version of Aunt May’s ‘are you okay it’s okay not to be okay right now, just talk to me’ speech. So Peter just crossed his arms and prepared himself to smile and nod and dodge any specifics until he could get out of there and get back to the actually important stuff.

 

He did not get a variation on the Aunt May speech.

 

“Why does your Aunt send you to this school?” the Principal asked, in a sharp tone. His head was tilted slightly, like an eagle assessing its prey.

 

Peter blinked for a moment. He had not been expecting that question. “She...uh...she wants me to learn stuff? And...have a good future?” 

 

The Principal smiled slightly at that, but it didn’t feel friendly to Peter. Except in the way sharks were friendly. And not in the Finding Nemo way, in the Jaws way. 

 

“Exactly. And while we’re all about experiential learning here at MSST, you have to actually  _ be here  _ in order to experience the lessons and learn from them.” He paused. “And on school field trips, you have to actually attend the event in order to not be marked truant.”

 

Peter gulped.

 

“Where were you, Peter?” 

 

Peter just looked at him. He had no cover story for this one.

 

The Principal just waited. Damn teacher tricks. “I was...I wanted donuts, I got lost and missed the school bus leaving, and then my phone wouldn’t work and I...I got there as quick as I could.”

 

Another long pause. Dammit. “It’s not like I was gone the whole night. Ask Ned.” He just kept digging himself deeper and deeper, and now he’d pulled Ned into it, too.

 

“I did.”

 

Peter felt his eyes widening in panic, but at least he kept his mouth shut (finally).

 

“So care to tell me why you told him you were going out for  _ breakfast tacos _ if you actually wanted  _ donuts _ ?”

 

God bless Ned. 

 

“I...uh...I thought I might get lost and the taco place was farther away than the donut shop?”

 

Huh. That actually sounded believably like something Peter would do. He probably could have had a better delivery, though.

 

Morita looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “Peter, I want to tell you a family story, and I’m trusting you to hear the important parts of it, not the flashy parts, okay?”

 

Peter did not know where this was going, but he nodded.

 

“Gramps loves this story, always used to tell it to us whenever we were in trouble and didn’t feel guilty about it. One winter, about 2 months after the Commandos were formed, they were prepping for a mission in Austria, based out of an old inn in a town that had about 50 people left in it, total. Well, the mission’s tomorrow, and the guys are all downstairs playing cards to work off some nerves. Sarge was over at the bar flirting with this pretty waitress, when suddenly Gramps notices him straightening up and staring hard at the mirror behind the bar. After a few minutes, he goes out the front door like he’s on a mission. Cap sees it and goes after him.”

 

After a moment, it clicks that ‘Sarge’ is the notorious James Buchanan Barnes. So far it sounds just like Bucharest. Again. Peter wonders how the story goes when there’s not a metal arm in the equation.

 

“They show up at the inn two days later, some story about Sarge overhearing something, he said in a secret room behind the mirror, which I didn’t believe as a kid but do now after all that business down in DC a few years ago, about a raid on a Resistance stronghold the next town over and deciding to take care of it himself, rather than actually talk to anybody about it, because, and this is a direct quote,  _ it’d only take a second. _ And because Cap will always,  _ always  _ follow that man into the jaws of death, he went with him, again,  _ without telling anyone _ . And yes, they did manage to ambush the German team sent to the farmhouse and get the Resistance word with enough time for them to move before a second team mobilized, and the Commandos ran the raid they’d actually been assigned and the only damage was a sprained ankle on Gabe Jones. So everything worked out in the end. And you know what Agent Carter did when Cap rolled up with mud in his hair and an adrenaline grin on his face?”

 

Morita paused, so Peter responded. “No, sir. What did she do?”

 

Morita didn’t smile as he gave the punch line. “She slapped him across the face hard enough that the mark was still visible at dinner time.” A pause, to let that sink in. “See, it wasn’t that things went badly, or even being worried that they could’ve. It was that they’d abandoned one mission in favor of another, without telling a soul on either side they were doing it. It put the original mission in danger, both because they didn’t have the human resources they’d planned to have on it, and that information about that mission was in Cap and Sarge’s head, and if they were in the wind, so was that information. And it was even endangering the resistance stronghold they were trying to protect, because if they had actually bothered to  _ tell  _ Carter or Phillips what they’d heard, they would have learned that they already had a plan in place for how to alert them to being compromised and it didn’t involve gun battles right outside their house. By being so convinced they were right that they didn’t stop to talk to their team, which would have taken all of  _ two seconds _ , they put months of effort and a number of lives at risk. And that kind of precedent? It would have lost the war, if they’d continued on that way.” 

 

That was an interesting story, and one that fit squarely with Peter’s own ideas about Cap and his tendency to listen to no one but himself, and apparently Barnes. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to teach him about cutting class, though.

 

“What he wanted to do was a good thing, and he made great plans when he had all the information. But Cap didn’t see the whole picture this time, and he didn’t trust his friends to help him see the pieces he was missing. That was why she was angry.” A short pause. “He didn’t do it again. In case you were wondering.”

 

“That is...a very interesting story. But I’m not actually sure why you’re telling me this.” Peter’s voice squeaked embarrassingly.

 

Principal Morita smiled. “You need to trust the people who care about you to help you see the big picture, too. Trust yourself, yes, but also trust the people who have your back to see things you don’t. Whatever you were doing, I highly doubt it was donuts  _ or  _ breakfast tacos, but even if it  _ was  _ something as important as protecting a resistance stronghold during a world war, if you’re not trusting the people who have your back, you’re going to miss the big picture. Your aunt wants you to go to school for a reason. I want you in class  _ for a reason _ . If you’ve got intel we need,  _ tell us _ so we can plan for it. But mostly, you need to trust us.”

 

For a tiny, tiny moment, Peter wondered what would happen if he came clean about his powers to the Principal. He was so matter of fact about Cap...no. He’d already trusted one adult, Tony Stark, and that got him nowhere; man didn’t even pick up his phone when Peter needed his help. And Principal Morita might be required by law or something to tell Aunt May, and that--no. Not an option. 

 

So Peter just recrossed his arms uncomfortably. “Thanks, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.” He would not be keeping it in mind. He wondered if that thought was as obvious on his face as it felt.

 

The man did not look impressed, so it probably was.

 

\-------------

 

Peter respected Principal Morita a great deal, but at the moment, the only thing he could think about was what a jerk he was being. Peter didn’t have time for Spanish class, and he DEFINITELY didn’t have time for detention. 

 

When Captain America’s big fat head came on the screen and started speaking in that stupid patronizing tone about “knowing what you did was wrong,” Peter could feel his blood begin to boil. He was just frustrated enough to notice how  _ different _ this guy sounded from the man at the airport--at first he wondered if they’d hired an actor to do all these ridiculous videos, but then he heard him say ‘guy’ and knew it was the same man. 

 

He wondered if anyone thought these videos actually did ANYTHING besides piss people off.

 

And then screen-Captain America talked about following the rules, and Peter literally saw red for a moment, as if Karen had turned back on the kill mode. As if he hadn’t had bruises for a  _ week _ when this asshole decided he was more important than the rules. He had better shit to do than watch this hypocrite. Everyone in that detention room probably did, actually, but Peter especially. 

 

He grabbed his bag and left.

 

\------------

 

He was doing nothing but messing up and disappointing everyone in his life, apparently. He wondered bitterly if Principal Morita and Stark had rehearsed their speeches together. None of them were as bad as Aunt May’s, though. Not even close.

 

\-------------

 

When Michelle said she wanted to spend the whole Saturday at the Brooklyn court records building looking through old records, Peter had thought she was exaggerating, so he’d shown up at the bus stop 2 minutes early, her Frappuccino in one hand and his phone in the other, making plans with Ned to hang out that afternoon.

 

Protip: she wasn’t.

 

It was now three in the afternoon, and they’d been cooped up in this small room with boxes and boxes of documents since 10. It was sunny outside, or at least it had been when they entered this parallel realm of horror. 

 

Initially, she’d wanted to go through their old school records, too, but apparently a fire in the 60s had destroyed those records. Peter felt guilty that he was relieved he only had to visit ONE dusty old archive, full of artificial lights and thrift store smells and not enough elbow room to keep it from feeling claustrophobic.

 

Michelle had taken the life/death and business records and put him on court and criminal records.  She’d pulled out a few files from the late twenties, apparently related to the Barnes’ family business (furniture, apparently), and a 1942 marriage certificate for one of the younger sisters. She seemed particularly excited about one of the business documents for reasons he didn’t understand and she didn’t explain except that “he had to have been good at math,” which Peter thought didn’t really explain anything at all.  

 

The only thing she’d found that would help him on HIS project was a death certificate for Rogers’ mother, and the related notes about the estate taxes being paid in full. 

 

Peter, on the other hand, hadn’t found  _ anything _ yet. It looks like Barnes had kept his nose clean. Wasn’t even mentioned as a witness in anything, at least not up through early 1936. He felt disappointed--he’d really imagined him as getting a start as a teenager running errands for the mob or something--wasn’t it Prohibition then? When did that even end? He could totally see a baby Bucky Barnes watching out for cops to help a mobster smuggle in liquor. Rogers had probably bailed him out of jail tons of times before. Barnes was probably sneaky enough even then not to get caught, though. That’s why there were no records--he was just that good. Even before the metal arm. 

 

He was about to give up and take a water break when something from the July file caught his eye. 

 

Assault. Rogers, S. G. Plea--Guilty. 

 

Peter felt his jaw drop you could almost hear it. Michelle must have--she looked over and said “What.” like it wasn’t even a question.

 

“Do you...Rogers is a really common name, right? Like really common?”

 

He knew his eyes looked like saucers, but he couldn’t stop it. This was...this was huge. How had a historian not uncovered this before?

 

Michelle grabbed the folder out of his hands, quickly flipping through it with a bit of a smirk, like she’d expected something like this.She paused, read the description of the testimony. 

 

“Of course he did.” It sounded like she was talking to herself. She kept reading. “What? Five dollars?”

 

Peter couldn’t wait any more. “What happened?”

 

Michelle looked up, blinking. “According to Rogers’ confession, some asshole lawyer’s kid was harassing two girls who may or may not have been Bucky’s sisters. Rogers punched him. Daddy was a lawyer so he sued. Rogers didn’t even try to deny it, although he probably could have and gotten away with it, he was such a shrimp at the time. Instead, he paid a whopping 5 dollar fine and that was the end of it.” She sighed. “That’s not even the interesting stuff. I was sure he’d show up all over the place for street brawling. Maybe some arrests for protesting. Check...check the six months after his mom died. Based on recent events, that guy does not do well with grief.”

 

Peter...had not thought of it that way. He flipped ahead, started looking carefully at stuff, and sure enough, he found a record from November ‘36 listing Rogers, S.G. as being picked up for street brawling and released on bail; charges were dropped. Then again a week later, and this time the charges WEREN’T dropped but --the next page had black marker all over it. The only thing he could read was “the defendant” at the top and a few more “the”s scattered throughout.

 

“Uh, Michelle?” He showed her the page. 

 

This time, she did the jaw drop. “Holy shit, they really did it? Even the paper records?”

 

Peter did not know what she was talking about. “What are you talking about?”

 

She sighed, as if this was obvious and he should already know it. “When you’ve got an image like Captain America, you don’t want it tarnished, especially when public support is not entirely stable. I’d guessed they might have cleaned up his record a bit during the 50s, especially if he had been involved in any sort of labor or progressive movements. But...then you found that other record, and I thought maybe I’d been paranoid. Seems not.” She sighed. “Can you tell anything from this one?” 

 

Peter looked at it, then flipped to the previous page. “Complaint was filed by the city, not an individual. The incident is listed as happening outside some hotel, St. George? All the details are on the blacked out page.”

 

Apparently that meant something to Michelle, though, because her eyes went a little wide and she actually grabbed for the folder. “What? It’s not possible. Is it possible?”

 

Peter looked at her, clearly talking to herself as she squinted at the blacked out page. “What’s not possible?”

 

She looked up at him for a moment, brow quirking. “I don’t have enough evidence here to support it yet. And you are definitely not ready to hear it, if it’s true.” She pulled out her phone and snapped pictures of the pages, both the the legible and redacted ones, then closed the file and shoved it on top of his stack. “Keep looking.” 

 

He only found one more, a drunk and disorderly from that winter, once again released on bail with a small fine that was paid in full. After that, nothing. If the files had been there, they’d been cleaned out. He was still at 1942 when the records clerk came and told them they’d be locking up in fifteen minutes. She asked if they’d found what they needed. 

 

Peter thought about a young, tiny Steve Rogers, barely older than Peter was now, punching out some rich asshole for bothering what he probably thought of as his kid sisters, and standing up in court and taking responsibility for it. “You know, I think I did.” 

 

\------------

 

He got an extension on the report, on account of being sick, if by sick you meant bruised and battered from fighting and almost being killed by your date’s dad, who you subsequently got arrested. It was like every bad ‘sitting on a porch with a shotgun’ joke ever, except for the part where standing up took five minutes and felt nothing like a joke. 

 

Peter wondered if this is what it felt like when Rogers got beat up as a skinny mouthy kid from Brooklyn. If so, he wondered why on earth he hadn’t just shut up already after the first few times, because this fricking sucked. But Peter knew why, actually. It was the same reason he’d pushed a literal warehouse off his back and then went back for more when he found the guy who’d done it. Apparently he never knew when to quit, either. He wasn’t actually sure that was a bad thing, and he wasn’t changing it, either way.

 

Ned came by and kept him company, with the most hilarious story of getting caught in the library while he was doing his ‘guy in the chair’ routine. It made Peter smile, and kept Aunt May from fussing over him too much for at least a few minutes. 

 

Michelle dropped off her color coded, condensed notes on the terror that was young Barnes’n’Rogers in lieu of a get well card. His paper basically turned into something along the lines of “not knowing when to quit is a mark of both idiots and heroes, and there’s not really a good way to tell them apart, except possibly for the goal they’re working toward.” Which he tries really, really hard not to take as criticism from his own self-conscience.

 

He gets an A-, which is good enough.

 

\------------

 

Physics class was annoying. He hadn’t been taking very good notes for the few weeks before...everything, so he was a little lost, and he was  _ never _ lost in physics. He knew he’d catch up, though. They were doing aerodynamics. Peter knew a little bit about that.

 

He and Ned were lab partners for that one and decided to do a project calculating what the optimal relative thrust for each repulsor of the Iron Man suit in a high wind situation, considering both speed and maneuverability. It met the project requirements, anyway, and mean they got to attach tiny battery-powered propellers to an Iron Man action figure and steer it towards the ceiling fan. Which, let’s be real, was their main goal.

 

Ned didn’t suggest they cheat by calling Tony Stark even once, because Ned was a good friend and also because he really wanted to be the one controlling the droned-up action figure. 

 

When it was Peter’s turn, he accidentally turned up the arm thrusters too high and the figure went straight into the ceiling fan blades. Tony Stark’s tiny plastic head rolled around on the paper they were taking notes on, separated from the body that was, remarkably, still hovering next to the fan’s blades, much more evenly than when the head had been attached.

 

Peter did his best not to laugh.

 

\-----------

 

When he got pulled out of the after school AcDec meeting to go upstate, he had no idea what he was heading for. Surely if Stark wanted to berate him more, he would come to him, make it even more embarrassing? Happy’s attitude wasn’t one of the admin pulling him into the principal’s office, though, so he had no idea what to expect.

 

The compound was absolutely gorgeous, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the way the Wakandan jet seemed to defy gravity as it lifted straight up without even disturbing the grass nearby. Happy was right--you didn’t see that every day.

 

And then his head was made of cotton, because he was staring at a Spiderman suit that looked halfway like it was made of Iron, and Tony Stark was talking about introducing him to the press as a member of the Avengers and moving him upstate. It was like every dream he’d ever had come true--he couldn’t wait to tell Aunt May that--oh. A room next to Vision was not a room in the same apartment as Aunt May. A room upstate meant no classes at MSST. It meant jets and press and all kinds of stuff he just wasn’t ready for. 

 

He heard Principal Morita’s voice in his head, saying “trust yourself, yes, but also trust the people who have your back.’’ 

 

He thought about the people whose back  _ he  _ has, from his AcDec team to the neighborhood he protects. And his decision is made, just like that. He feels the weight of it heavy in his stomach, and it gives him the strength to face his mentor and tell him ‘No thanks.’ 

 

It was super-weird for Mr. Stark to call him “Mr. Parker” instead of “kid,” though. It made him feel both older and younger than he was. He felt good about it, though, and good about his choice. For now, Queens was where he needed to be. 

 

\--------------

 

Getting his suit back was AWESOME.

 

Aunt May seeing it? Not so much.

 

\------------

 

Peter didn’t want to blame his patrolling for the way his head was nodding in Civics class, but his only other real option was to blame Ms. Garcia, and it wasn’t her fault. She was a dynamic, hilarious teacher who held them to exceedingly high expectations, and pretty much everyone loved her because of it. But he’d been out until one, and then he’d been tossing and turning until four, trying to figure out how to have a conversation with Mr. Stark that neither of them really wanted to have.

 

His head jerked as he heard Ms. Garcia’s voice change tone, signalling that she’d finished giving instructions. He leaned over to Ned. 

 

“What are we doing today?” 

 

Ned looked a little disgusted at Peter’s question, lie he couldn’t believe Peter had been that clueless for the last five minutes. He was a good friend, though, probably better than Peter deserved, because he whispered back “Current Issues focus group discussion and summary paper--each team gets a different topic. Hope I get the voting machine hacking scandal!”

 

Peter let out a breath in relief. Their focus group was assigned for the whole year to have in-depth discussions. His was made up of MJ, a pair of band kids (Anna and Ricky), and one of the school’s coolest jocks, Eddy from the basketball team. They’d had some really fruitful discussions so far, and they liked each other enough to cover for Peter’s unpreparedness today. 

 

Well, maybe MJ wouldn’t. He could never tell what to expect with her.

 

They rearranged their desks as Anna claimed their topic and summary worksheet. As soon as she got back, MJ snatched the slip of paper from her hand, a satisfied smirk emerging as she saw their topic.

 

“You look like you caught a canary, Michelle. What’s today’s poison?” Eddy said as he absentmindedly twirled a pencil.

 

She looked up, but her eyes flickered between Peter and Eddy as she spoke. “International Policies in a post-Chitauri World--the Sokovia Accords.”

 

And just like that, Peter’s relief evaporated. Out of all the topics, she grabbed that one? Seriously?

 

Ricky just laughed. “Seriously? That’s super easy, there’s no way we’ll spend the whole thirty minutes discussing this. They’re weapons of mass destruction, just like A bombs, and we’ve got a crapton of rules about who gets those and how they get used or not. Forming some sort of oversight is the only way to protect everybody, including them, and only self-righteous assholes would refuse to sign, and they’re going to end up getting us all killed if it doesn’t get sorted out. Finished. Gosh, the only way this discussion would have been shorter is if it had been something like “Nazis: Are They Bad?”

 

Peter didn’t think Ricky’s explanation was complex enough to cover the situation, although he acknowledged that “self-righteous,” at, least, applied to at least one of the people he’d stared off at across a literal line in the pavement in Germany. A quiet voice in his head suspiciously like MJ’s, but with Karen’s intonations, said it applied to at least one person on his own side of the line, as well. 

 

Peter chose to ignore that voice. Luckily, that was easy, because Eddy had jumped in with fervor, his pen abandoned as he leaned forward in the chair. “Dude, it’s totally not that simple. They are people, too; they get to make choices about their own lives. And when exactly has that sort of stuff turned out WELL for anyone? Did you not see the footage from DC when the helicarriers went down? This sort of international cooperation shit never goes well. It’s either totally useless, or it ends up  _ breaking the world _ , like a large swath of the central latitudes can testify to. And half the time they just stuff cotton in their ears when someone actually needs their help. I honestly don’t blame Cap and the others for refusing to take their marching orders from a group like that. I wouldn’t.” Eddy’s voice was passionate; Peter felt a little surprised the boy was so invested.

 

MJ’s voice was quieter than usual, and more compelling. “For seventy years, Barnes was treated as nothing more than a weapon. He understands what that means for the world, even more than for himself. The others on their side, those that we know, anyway--Captain Rogers, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff--they’ve ALL  _ been nothing but weapons already _ . They know where that leads. Why would this time be any different?”

 

Ricky wasn’t convinced, but he looked like he was marshaling his thoughts. Meanwhile, Anna was taking fervent notes. She paused for a moment, looking up and taking a deep breath, a classic indication that she was going to drop a bomb of a discussion point. 

 

“So it looks like we’ve got two separate discussion issues to include in the report; whether or not the Avengers should be allowed self-autonomy, and whether an organization like the UN can effectively wield a tool such as the Avengers.”

 

Ricky nodded. “Sure. That sounds like a great way to organize the notes. We’ll have more fun talking about the first one; after all, we, as teenagers, are literally defining self-autonomy for ourselves right now. We are probably more qualified than the old dudes at the UN to solve that part.”

 

“And dudettes.” Anna piped in.

 

Ricky looked at her. “What?”

 

“The dudes  _ and dudettes _ at the UN. It’s not ALL old men calling the shots there. There’s some old ladies too. They’re scarier.” 

 

For some reason, Black Widow’s blank face flashed across his mind, next to the image of the Winter Soldier’s flat expression. Yup, dudettes were definitely scarier. The absurdity of the whole line of thought surprised a sharp chuckle out of him, and the whole group looked at him.

 

MJ’s glare had tangible edges. “Funny? What do YOU think about the Sokovia accords, Peter? Should every super-abled person be required to sign it? To only get involved when they’ve got the rubber stamp of 117 different nations and all that entails?”

 

The others were staring, expectantly. Peter gave a quick cough to buy himself a second as he scrambled to find the bottom of his stomach, which had dropped at MJ’s question. “Me? I think you’re both right, in some ways. When you think you’re right, you don’t always see the whole picture, and you don’t usually listen to people who are trying to tell you you’re wrong, and that makes you dangerous.“  It was like an echo in his mind, Mr. Stark’s voice, convinced and worried and, Peter suddenly, realized, guilty. 

 

The scene melted into an Iron Man party mask at the bank. If he’d waited for the cops...“But also, time is SHORT in emergencies. UN Resolutions and approvals take so much time, I don’t blame them for worrying about the damage while they wait for, as MJ said, 117 different countries with different agendas and needs and all that and seriously, we can’t actually get them to agree to not overheat the planet where we  _ all  _ live; what can they agree on?” Peter knew he was rambling, but he kept going.  “And the Avengers? They’re people. Strong people, sure, but people; we don’t make people do things they don’t agree with, not usually. Except like avoid cannibalism. Or kick puppies. We don’t let people do that, even when they want to. But it’s not like they’re cannibals. I think. No, I’m sure. Not cannibals. And they don’t kick puppies. Spiders and ants, maybe...” Peter wasn’t even making sense to himself at that point, so he decided to stop talking.

 

MJ pressed on, strangely intent. “So, would YOU sign it?”

 

Peter jerked in his chair. “What...what are you talking about?” 

 

MJ smirked. “The Accords. If you were super-abled, would you sign?” 

 

Peter opened his mouth, but he honestly didn’t know what he was going to say. He closed it. Opened it again. He knew he looked like a fish. A spiderfish. Terrifying. He risked her wrath and turned the question around.  “Would you?”

 

\------

 

He was still thinking about the discussion an hour later in Spanish class. He knew he was drifting, the sleep deprivation no match for the teacher’s flat monotone, but he still didn’t have an answer for MJ even in his own head.

 

What Mr. Stark had said about Cap being dangerous because he thought he was right was true, Peter thought. But it wasn’t just about Cap. Mr. Stark thought he was right, too. So did Peter.

 

Did that make all three of them dangerous? If so, what should he do about it? 

 

He was just trying to help people.

 

\-----------

 

That night, he dreamt about the deli fire, except he was the one buried under the rubble, and when he looked up, he saw a city floating overhead.

 

\-----------

 

He only asked Mr. Stark about Sokovia one time. Not the Sokovia Accords--that seemed like a bad topic to bring up unless he was willing to sign them, which he didn’t know about yet. But no one really knew what had happened in Sokovia, except that there were lots of robots with distinctive Stark Industries design, and a lot of fighting, and a lot of people dying, although not nearly as many as could have been. Most of the serious debriefs had been done behind closed doors and the politicians weren’t sharing details.So when that unit came up in class, he found himself wondering about it. And as usual, his mouth started talking before he’d fully given it permission to.

 

He was at the weekend training retreat he and Mr. Stark had finally settled on--real training, not secret trips to Europe--and he was hanging out in the kitchen afterwards with Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes (who was actually really cool and not at all patronizing like Mr. Stark could be) and he just blurted out the question. “What happened in Sokovia? I mean really?” 

 

Mr. Stark froze, protein shake halfway to his mouth. He took a deep breath, then looked at the coffee machine next to Peter, as if that were the same thing as looking at him when he answered the question. “I made an error in judgement, and that error took on a life of its own. Literally. Consequences of my own arrogance and now we’re all paying for it. Us least of all.” 

 

That was an extremely obtuse answer, but it lined up with what MJ had said, about Ultron being an intentional creation gone haywire. MJ had followed it up with a crack about 2001:Space Odyssey, but given how Mr. Stark was still not looking at him, Peter thought it wouldn’t go over too well here.

 

Colonel Rhodes spoke in a casual voice, almost too casual. “You know that shitstorm was a lot of people’s fault, not you alone, Tony, and that’s what this is about, now. More eyes and more brains so we don’t get so caught up in one detail that we miss the other parts.” 

 

(One of the things Peter liked best about Colonel Rhodes is he didn’t even try not to swear around Peter. That, more than anything, made him feel like he was regarded as a member of the team and not a sidekick.)

 

It’s enough to break Tony’s staring contest with the coffee maker, forcing his gaze over to Rhodes with gratitude poorly disguised as annoyance. “Well, maybe, but it also means a hell of a lot more meetings. Tell Vision when he gets back there’s a stack of papers on his desk we need finished ASAP. I’m off to meet Pep--we’ll be in Shanghai for the next five days, so don’t burn this place down until we get back.” A pause. “She’ll want to bring marshmallows.”

 

Peter had noticed that Vision wasn’t at the training session, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he wasn’t on base at all. It hadn’t occurred to him that Vision  _ could _ leave, although that seemed like a stupid idea in retrospect.  “What? Where’s Vision? Does he need help?”

 

This time, Tony looked over at Peter, and there was a strange twist on his face. It looked both proud and angry and worried. It...actually, it looked like Aunt May’s face when she agreed to let him train here, which was super bizarre. “Vision almost certainly needs help, but given what I’ve seen of you and, what was her name, MK?, you would-- ”

 

“MJ,” Peter found himself interrupting.

 

“MJ. You would definitely not be able help him. Every boy needs to learn how to romance girls the hard way, by which I mean failing miserably and preferably publicly, although in this case probably not too publicly because I am going to be out of town and have no desire to avoid Ross’s calls again this week, but for matters of the heart you only learn one way, and that includes androids and spiderlings too. It’s practically a right of passage.”

 

Peter didn’t really follow the subtext that was obviously there, except that he was implying something about Peter and MJ and ‘matters of the heart,’ which was...not something Peter was willing to think about either way right now. And this had been about Vision, anyway.

 

Instead, Peter thought about how that word vomit was almost worthy of Peter, actually, although it seemed much more tightly organized for all that it showed multiple angles without losing focus. Less of a drunk bumblebee and more of a Picasso. Nah, not a Picasso, not enough crisp edges. Maybe a Braque, who they’d learned about just last week in Art class. Peter aimed for his speeches to follow that smooth a method someday. With practice. Maybe some professional speech coaching, too. Although he was a superhero, not a public speaker. The only ones he needed to give speeches to were villains, and villains didn’t really care if he had perfect diction and used the correct number of transitions to make his point easy to follow. Well, maybe they did, but they were villains, so he didn’t really have to listen to their critiques. Especially because they would be in jail and he wouldn’t have to hear them. 

 

Peter could feel his mind bouncing around inside of itself and forcefully brought it back into the current conversation. However, apparently his lack of immediate response meant the conversation was over. Mr. Stark had already rinsed his glass and put it in the high tech dishwasher, and was patting Colonel Rhodes on the back on his way past. 

 

He paused briefly in the doorway. “Have a good week, kid. Good job today.”

 

Peter just looked at Colonel Rhodes for a minute. “Did I miss something? That seemed weird.” 

 

Colonel Rhodes just laughed. “He IS weird. Nobody can explain Tony Stark, though. Not even him.” 

 

Huh. Absently, Peter wondered what Ned says when people called Peter wierd. He hoped it wasn’t to agree with them. But, he kindof did, in that clearly Colonel Rhodes knew a lot of Mr. Stark's flaws and cared about him anyway, and he wanted to trust Ned like that, too.

 

\-------------

 

“Ned, what do you do when people call your friends weird?” Peter asked, in what was probably an admittedly weird way. 

 

Ned froze, licked his ice cream cone to buy some time, and for some reason shot a panicked look at MJ. “What are you talking about? Why would anyone call you guys weird?”

 

MJ didn’t even look up from the book she held in one hand. “Because Peter IS weird.” 

 

“He’s just as weird as you are!” Ned got that panicked look again. “I mean….” 

 

MJ glared at him for just a moment before her face broke out in a grin. “I know. That’s why we get along so well.”

 

“We do?” This time it was Peter’s turn to looked panicked. “I mean...yes. We get along well. Because we are both…interesting people. With interesting habits.” 

 

MJ scrutinized him for a moment as she took a bite of her own ice cream cone. The crunch was surprisingly loud in the park. “Interesting secrets, maybe.”

 

Was that a test? It sounded like a test. But then, MJ always made things sound like a test. 

 

“Nah, my secrets are boring. Except for the secret ingredient in Aunt May’s chocolate cake. That’s pretty interesting. But I gotta keep that one secret. Everything else, I need you guys to know about.” Well, Ned to know everything else and MJ to know  _ almost _ everything else. “That’s why you’re there. Extra eyes to help me see what I miss.” 

 

“What, like eyes in the back of your head? That’s gross, Peter. I’m more than a set of eyes.” 

 

Ned didn’t seem offended, but Peter wanted it to be clear anyway. He slung an arm around Ned’s shoulders as they walked. “No, I mean you’re my friend, and that’s what friends do. Help you by calling you on your crap.”

 

MJ harrumphed. “And when your friends are just as full of crap as you are?”

 

Peter hesitated a split second, then threw his other arm around her, careful not to get ice cream in her hair. “Well then, I guess you just hope one of you has a shovel.” 

 

She elbowed him lightly, but not enough to dislodge his arm. “Smartass.”

 

Peter smiled. “Maybe. But I got some weird friends to keep me in check, so it’s okay.” 

 

This time the elbow in the ribs wasn’t particularly gentle, but he was pretty sure he deserved it. He smiled anyway. He was really grateful for friends like this. “Thanks, guys.”


End file.
